Sparrow
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: Pre-Apocalypse. Carol notices a *look* in Ed's eyes when he glances at Sophia. One-shot.


Summary: Pre-Apocalypse. Carol notices a _look_ in Ed's eyes when he glances at Sophia. (One-shot)

A/N: This has probably been done before, but I can't get it out of my head. (Unbetad; forgive me.)

Warning: Mentions domestic violence, hence the rating.

* * *

Carol doesn't often let herself think of the life that could have been; she can do nothing about the here and now, and dreaming doesn't make anything better. But, on the rare occasions when she does allow her mind to wander forbidden paths, she imagines going back in time, telling that naïve young version of herself that she has options, futures that don't include bruises and broken bones and Ed. Futures that don't include Sophia – and it is for that reason she doesn't like to wonder.

Sophia is the only thing keeping her going, the only light in her life. Ed has driven away her friends, her family; he wants a stay-at-home wife and that's what she is, a drab sparrow in a battered cage. She can live with that, because she has Sophia.

But Sophia isn't a little girl anymore. She's taller, her face changing, losing its chubbiness as she enters that gangly pre-teen age. Not a little girl, not yet a woman; Carol can see that Sophia is going to be beautiful.

Ed has noticed too, and it terrifies Carol. Ed, who hardly paid attention to Sophia as a toddler, as a preschooler, sometimes has a _look_ in his eyes when he glances at Sophia. There is nothing paternal in that gaze. Carol thought she had known the depth of Ed's depravity but this _look_ makes her sick to her stomach. She knows she is not the best mother she can be, knows she is weak and should have taken Sophia and run years ago, but she has told herself so many times that she believes it to be true: she can handle Ed's abuse because Sophia is safe.

But this _look_ . . .

She tells Sophia casually over breakfast, not wanting to worry her: "You should lock your bedroom door at night, sweetheart."

Sophia just looks at her, takes in her mother's fading bruises, the way she favours her left side. Her lips press together in a thin line, a frown crinkles her forehead, and she nods. Only eleven years old and she sees more than she should, understands what her mother is not saying.

A few days later, Carol cuts her finger on a knife while washing the dishes. She watches the blood drop into the water, bubbles turning red, then looks at the knife and wonders. Perhaps it is not too late to dream of a future without Ed.

For her daughter, for Sophia, she must try.

Alone in the house, she practices. Six steps from the bed to the dresser, soundlessly slip the knife out from beneath, ten steps to Ed's side of the bed. Imagine him lying on his back, snoring. Knife to his throat, one quick movement, and it's over.

It's the middle of the night and she's standing over him, moonlight spilling through a gap in the curtains. She can do this. For her daughter, she can do this.

And then his hand is gripping her wrist, squeezing so hard. The knife falls to the floor and Ed is up, pushing her against the wall, his other hand around her neck. She can't breathe, can't think, and the next thing she knows, he is straddling her on the bed, the knife carving her flesh, her screams muffled by the nightgown he's stuffed into her mouth.

When he's done with her, he drops the knife onto the bed next to her and walks out.

Trembling, she pulls the gag free of her mouth. Her skin burns as she tries to sit but she pushes through the pain and stumbles to the bathroom. She flicks the light on and gasps in horror. Her chest, stomach, thighs are covered in blood. She wets a facecloth and starts to wipe, wincing at the sting. The cuts are not deep enough to be dangerous but she knows they will leave scars.

She stares at herself in the mirror, weeping. Ed has covered her with 'E's, marking her as his.

Suddenly panicking, she pulls on a robe and makes her way to Sophia's room. The door is locked, and she sags against it in relief.

"Mommy?"

"I'm okay, baby. Go to sleep."

Back in her bedroom, she wipes her blood from the knife. Then she slips it under the bed for another night. For Sophia, she has to try.


End file.
